‘I shall be discreet,’ I promised. ‘I value my skin as much as you do.’
‘And where is young Wardroper this evening?’ Timothy asked grimly as we crossed the threshold, having produced the password and been acknowledged as friends by the sentry guarding the door.
‘I instructed him to keep an eye on Ralph Boyse.’
‘You did what?’ Timothy spluttered. ‘Knowing all you believe you know about the pair of them?’
‘His Grace is surrounded by his friends and at least three of his Squires of the Body,’ I soothed. ‘He’ll be safe enough until bedtime. I don’t imagine either Ralph or Matthew will do anything in the open unless forced to it. No murderer ever wishes to be caught. His own life is too precious.’
We could hear singing drifting down the stairs from one of the upstairs rooms. Ralph’s voice was uplifted in a gentle, pleasant air.
Timothy growled, ‘At least his mother was a Frenchwoman. What will be young Wardroper’s excuse I wonder.’
I noted that my words had not, as I had originally feared, fallen on stony ground, but had found fertile soil and put down roots. In that case God grant that I was correct in my assumptions and had not vilified innocent men, including King Edward.
‘What do we do now?’ I asked Timothy. ‘Without more evidence there can be no arrests. It would be no more than my word against theirs at present.’
He nodded. ‘We stick as close as a burr to His Grace and put as much distance between him and those two as we dare without arousing too much suspicion. Meantime, we think, and think hard, for some way to resolve the problem. Some way to prove to all the world that they are villains.’
I was shaken by a momentary doubt. ‘And if I am proved to be mistaken?’ I demanded.
‘Then no harm done, if much time wasted. You’ve told no one but me? Very well. No need to worry. You’re a good man, chapman. And one I’m proud to name as my friend. I shan’t betray you.’
Chapter Nineteen
The Duke of Burgundy rode out of Calais the following morning, and the results of his previous day’s council of war with King Edward were soon circulating amongst the troops. Duke Richard was to accompany his brother-in-law, along with some of the other lords and captains, back to St Omer, then bear south to join the King and the Duke of Clarence, who were meanwhile to advance with their levies upon St Quentin, its defender, the Count of St Pol, having offered to surrender the town.
Timothy and I were to travel with the Duke wherever he went.
‘I had a private audience with His Grace as soon as he was dressed this morning and he’s agreed to it,’ Timothy said. ‘I’ve also requested that he leave Ralph Boyse and young Wardroper to follow on with the rest of the household, although I haven’t told him why. It’ll give us a night or two’s respite from their company and a chance to think. By the way, John Kendall told me that Duke Richard will see you now if you’re still of a mind to speak with him.’
The rooms set aside for the Duke’s private use were even more than usually crowded as iron-bound chests full of clothes, books and music were carried downstairs to be loaded on to the baggage wagons. In a day or two, when the remaining officers and servants had also left, accompanying the King, the house would grow quiet again, a decorous gentleman’s residence awaiting the return of its rightful owner.
Duke Richard was today partially armed in breastplate and gorget, with rerebraces on his upper arms and cuisses on his thighs, giving a military aspect to his amber velvet. For the first time since our arrival in Calais ten days before, it seemed as if we might indeed be going to war and not idling our lives away on some eternal picnic. Yet again I felt a momentary qualm; that uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as I confronted the fact that I might be wrong in my assumptions.
‘Well, Roger?’ The Duke raised his eyebrows. ‘You wished to see me?’
‘To ask you a question, my lord.’
‘I’m listening.’
I hesitated, uncomfortably aware of his quizzical gaze but, plucking up courage, proceeded, ‘My lord, when young Matthew Wardroper –’
‘Wardroper again,’ he murmured. ‘That’s the second time this morning his name’s been mentioned.’
I ignored the interruption. ‘When he rode after you, the day Great Hal bolted, did… did you feel that… that he was trying to rescue you or… or drive you into the ditch?’
The eyebrows climbed a little higher. ‘Blows the wind from that quarter?’ the Duke said softly. ‘A very odd question, you must agree, but I’ll try to give you an honest answer. What you make of it I have no wish to know, you understand me? I trust this affair will soon be resolved, and with the least possible fuss. And let it also be clearly understood that I want no man accused of anything without positive proof.’ He fingered his chin consideringly for several seconds, then continued, ‘Until this moment I have thought Matthew my rescuer, but I admit that your query raises certain doubts in my mind. My whole attention was naturally focused on bringing Great Hal under control and I cannot remember the incident with any clarity, but …’
‘But?’ I prompted eagerly when he paused.
‘But the truth is,’ he finished flatly, ‘that I am no longer sure what happened. That is all I can tell you.’
I would have pressed him further, but there was a look in his eye which forbade it. I hoped he would inquire into the reasons for my question, but he curtailed the audience, turning away to greet John Kendall, who had just entered bearing a sheaf of papers for the Duke to read and sign, and I had no choice but to bow and quit the room. Nevertheless, I had achieved something. His Grace, far from dismissing my suggestion as arrant nonsense, had as good as agreed that it might have merit and I could not help but see that as a confirmation of my suspicions.
Two hours later Timothy and I rode out of Calais in Duke Richard’s train, leaving Ralph Boyse and Matthew Wardroper behind us. But not for long. Soon we should rejoin them and the rest of the levies on their march to St Quentin.
‘They must surely make another attempt then,’ Timothy muttered. ‘If you’re right about the meaning of Saint Hyacinth’s Day, they haven’t much time left. We must be ready for them.’ His brow puckered fretfully. ‘I should have thought better of young Wardroper. Lionel will be appalled when the truth gets out. He recommended his cousin to the Duke’s service and will feel responsible for Matthew’s treason.’
I said nothing. Above our heads the banners of England and Burgundy flapped and mingled in the summer breeze, while behind us stretched all the panoply and might of two proud countries caparisoned for war. And on either side of us people went about their daily business as though we did not exist, sharpening scythes, bringing in the hay, tending their bees. It was as much as I could do not to leap from my nag and join them. Duke Richard was not the only person who trusted that this affair would soon be brought to its conclusion.
The rain sluiced down on the field of Agincourt, turning the ground into a sea of mud, the trees dripping mournfully on the encamped English army. It was almost sixty years since Henry of Monmouth had led his decimated troops across that ground to crush the might and chivalry of France and win for his country one of the most resounding victories of all time. But no such glory awaited the present English host as the army took its rest on that famous field.
We had waited in St Omer, entertained by Duchess Margaret and kicking our heels in frustration, for over two weeks, daily expecting a messenger from Calais to say that the King had at last set out for St Quentin. There were murmurings amongst the men about the strangeness of the delay, but for me it only strengthened my conviction that my reasoning was correct: King Edward was playing a deep and devious game. Finally, however, word arrived that the army was at last on the move and that Duke Richard was to join his brothers on the field of Agincourt.